


Hold On

by enthugger



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arguing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hugs, M/M, the exr usuals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 21:02:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15980435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enthugger/pseuds/enthugger
Summary: Like everything Grantaire does, it’s a puzzle. A problem with so many confusing answers that Enjolras never lets it take priority in his mind. And sure enough, after what seems like an endless deluge of paperwork, questioning, raised voices and clipped answers, when the two of them stand side by side in a holding cell waiting for one of their friends to post bail, he gets angry.





	Hold On

**Author's Note:**

> and/or no plot only hugs

It was a disaster from the beginning, Enjolras can see that now. Poorly planned, poorly researched, full of problems he should have been aware of, things he should have prepared for. But all things considered, it turned out as well as it could have, with everyone fine and only himself arrested. Well, himself and Grantaire.

Grantaire has been surprisingly quiet throughout the whole ordeal, subdued in a way that Enjolras has never seen before. It might have been worrying had he not been preoccupied with other things: dealing with police, trying to protect their friends, and pointedly ignoring the fact that Grantaire purposefully put himself between Enjolras and danger just an hour before. Grantaire had let himself be arrested alongside him when there was no need.

Like everything Grantaire does, it’s a puzzle. A problem with so many confusing answers that Enjolras never lets it take priority in his mind. And sure enough, after what seems like an endless deluge of paperwork, questioning, raised voices and clipped answers, when the two of them stand side by side in a holding cell waiting for one of their friends to post bail, they get angry.

“Why are you here?” The question comes out wrong – too sharp and accusatory. Enjolras can feel a headache starting to pound at his temples, he’s fairly sure that he hasn’t slept in two days, and he needs answers.

Grantaire laughs, too loud and forced. “I apologize for coming to your aid, then. You clearly had everything perfectly handled.”

“I did. There’s no need for you to be here too, you were barely involved before. I can’t – are you hurt?”

Grantaire rolls his eyes. He’d started to turn away as Enjolras spoke and stopped halfway through a disdainful shrug with a small wince.

“It’s fine.” He is clearly not fine. His right hand shakes slightly as he lifts it to prod carefully at one shoulder. His knuckles are split, his nails dark with dirt – or paint? – a dark bruise forming across his left cheekbone. He looks terrible. In another situation, Enjolras might feel guilty.

Grantaire seems to have finished his self-diagnosis and stops moving his shoulder around but keeps his hand on it. “Everything’s definitely still in the right place.” He gives Enjolras a sideways glance, “Don’t worry I’m still in prime condition to fight our way out of the chains of oppression if the need arises.”

Enjolras holds up a hand to stop him. Even the usually unrelenting flow of Grantaire’s sarcasm seems forced, as if this whole situation has shown Enjolras too much of him and he’s trying desperately to provoke some sort of animosity to cover it up again.

“You didn’t need to do this. Any of it,” Enjolras reaches out towards Grantaire, thinking he might examine his shoulder, but Grantaire jerks away from his hand as if burned. Enjolras frowns. “You got hurt protecting me.”

Grantaire turns away from him, his back stiff – with anger or stress, or a combination of the two, it’s hard to tell. “I didn’t think you cared.”

And this is why every conversation with Grantaire frustrates him to no end. It’s all posturing, as if they’re both scared to delve into the substance beneath it. He takes a breath. “Of course, I care. I’m confused because I always seems like you don’t. About me – about any of this.”

He’s up and pacing now, one arm outstretched in an attempt to convey something wordless – his own confusion or the breadth of things about which Grantaire doesn’t care.

“I don’t know, ok?” Grantaire is saying. His voice is strained, angry. And of course, he’s angry because this is how things between them always go. He’s been arrested, his otherwise peaceful night at home drinking – or doing who knows what - has been ruined. And it’s Enjolras’s fault. Grantaire has every right to be furious and to be honest, Enjolras could stand to get angry right now too. Anger is easier than concern and it’s always easy to be angry around Grantaire, when everything he says comes out wrong. When Grantaire looks at him with that stupid mocking smile that never quite reaches the depths of his eyes. 

“Of course, you don’t,” he starts to respond, turns back to look at Grantaire with a retort on his tongue and freezes. Grantaire starts as their eyes meet, immediately turning away as if he’s been caught. It takes Enjolras a moment to realize that he’s crying. He’s silent, with one hand pressed over his mouth, the other arm still wrapped around himself as if he’s trying to hold himself together.

They look at each other for long enough that it should be awkward, Grantaire’s strained breathing the only sound between them. Until finally, slowly, Enjolras takes a step forward, any anger from before fading into the feeling that his stomach is clenching into knots.

Before he can react further, Grantaire has crossed the room in two strides and buried his face in Enjolras’s shoulder. Enjolras can feel him, tense and shaking where their bodies are pressed together. Grantaire’s arm is still wrapped around his stomach and it’s squished awkwardly in between them. He doesn’t seem to notice.

Enjolras thinks he could count on one hand the number of times Grantaire has intentionally touched him. He always watches, always talks – never shuts up – but never touches. So, he supposes he’s always assumed that Grantaire didn’t want this, or at least didn’t want it from him. But he feels the way Grantaire’s free hand slips around his back to bunch in the fabric of his shirt, feels his uneven breathing and the rough brush of stubble against his neck, and he figures now is a good a time as any to break down this particular barrier.

He hugs back, finally, after what is probably far too long of a time to pass off as surprise. He brings one hand up to the back of Grantaire’s neck, tucks his head down against dark curls, and holds on.

**Author's Note:**

> Still learning how to write these boys so any feedback is greatly appreciated. Please talk to me about the fandom's disaster sons in the coments or on [tumblr](http://williamvapespeare.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
